Taste Me II
by brttny98
Summary: Part Two of the Taste Me series. [a bit short, sorry about that. I will write more to compensate, though]


The day had been long, and involved chasing down a very versatile homicidal maniac – and the overall devastation he left behind was atrocious, however – Sherlock was nearly purring with contentment (as he solved the case beautifully) next to John, the both of them leaning back along the leather couch, almost overlapping each other's thighs, with their close proximity. Sherlock leaned his head against John's shoulder, his curls tickling the doctor's cheek.

Straight after the case, the two men arrived home at Baker Street, took showers (the case involved some mud), got into their bed clothes, and - since John knew Sherlock liked to watch crappy television at night - the men sprawled out side by side on the couch, laying in the position they were in currently – the television playing some random show of no consequence in the back ground, Sherlock sighing into John's shoulder, soft and warm.

A thought occurred to John, though, as he felt how soft and pliable the dark haired man was, and decided that he'd really enjoy playing with him.

Playing with him meaning – he wanted to hold his tiny cock in his hand.

And make him come.

John shifted in his seat a little, making it so Sherlock had his legs spread further apart, as he was slouching as far as he could to reach John – his body leaning almost entirely onto the blonde, making him almost horizontal if it weren't for his head still resting on the doctor's shoulder. His shift was not enough to make the detective concerned, more so that he believed John to be settling into the cushions for optimal comfort.

John's hand trailed down Sherlock's thigh, trailed up higher still – till he plunged his large hand straight into Sherlock's briefs and grasped that little penis in his hand. He held it there, in his grip, squeezing lightly but without any give – he would hold until Sherlock made a pained noise at the pressure.

Sherlock gasped hard into John's neck – he had not expected this to occur on the couch – it hadn't crossed his mind. And now John has him inside of his large callused hand and _oh _how does John do this so wonderfully? So achingly?

Eventually Sherlock couldn't strain himself back any longer – it was hurting so _good _having John's hand tight around his dick but it was too much too soon and he whined high in his throat, gripping onto the bicep of the arm currently buried in his pajama pants, rubbing his face into the cotton shirt covering John's shoulder.

"Hmm, Sherlock," John said, after releasing his grip on the small little cock (earning John a gasp and an open mouthed kiss to his neck). "Do you feel how large my hand is? Compared to your cock?" John curled his thumb and pointer finger around the small organ, stroking it from base to head – slightly twisting his fingers on the up stroke. "Oh how easy it is to get you off – so petite, you are. So sweet." John mmh-ed at the sound Sherlock made when his fingers curled around the head while pre cum dripped from the cock in John's hand, and he coated the entire organ in the slick substance making the strokes smoother and _oh oh _Sherlock really liked that – _ah!_

Sherlock's grip tightened on John's arm, and his entire body trembled in pleasure. John laughed then, still stroking the hard on in Sherlock's trousers, "This penis is the same size as my thumb, Sherlock." He laughed again, and looked down at the detective, whose cheeks were pink in embarrassment. "Oh but do you feel that, love?" He gave the cock a particularly hard pull – swift, with a little flick to the base of the head, sending Sherlock keening into John's neck, "yes, you felt that, I know you did. Your little cock fits in my hand and oh I want to taste you again, Sherlock." John rubbed his cheek against the sweat coated curls of Sherlock's head, and placed a kiss on the flushed forehead.

"You'd like me to taste you some more, wouldn't you?" John continued stroking Sherlock through his pajamas and underwear, and with every word he said, murmured low into Sherlock's ear – the detective was thrusting deep into the fist that was gripping him hotly, wetly, strongly, but it wasn't enough no and – _ah – _he needed more of John, he did – but his voice kept saying the dirtiest things – things Sherlock didn't even know he wanted to hear.

"Would you like me to tongue fuck you again? Just like before – no thrusting," John looked down at the man, "no thrusting like you are now, just my mouth. Hmm, love?" John stroked faster, "would you like me to take your tiny cock into my mouth and drink your seed?"

Sherlock moaned directly into John's ear – his own neglected cock aching at the sound – and come coated John's hands and Sherlock's pants. The detective thrust twice more before letting out another groan, and licking a stripe of saliva across John's jawline.

"_Ah, _John," Sherlock sighed, sagging entirely into the doctor, and promptly fell asleep.

John pursed his lips, thinking that perhaps he should coordinate their orgasms – so as not to be left with an aching cock when his partner passed out in post orgasmic bliss.


End file.
